


but i won't say a word to you

by armyofbees



Series: over time without a break [3]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Artistic Liberties, Homophobia, James Madison Sr.'s A+ Parenting, M/M, Metaphors, Suicidal Thoughts, and Thomas, blink and you miss them tho, i know nothing about how the madisons were historically im sorry, it's basically just the whole madison family, oh god all the liberties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-29 05:12:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10847169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armyofbees/pseuds/armyofbees
Summary: He can feel himself burning, but he doesn’t move the blankets that he’s piled up. He closes his eyes and lets himself be charred, because maybe if he burns he won’t have to be here, in this house, anymore.--James just wants to be near Thomas, away from his family.





	but i won't say a word to you

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize in advance for knowing nothing about the Madisons. I really need to get around to actually researching them, but time is sort of short, so it's currently on the back burner. James is very anxious and panicky, so just keep that in mind before reading. Title is from [Dead End Job](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=afVS8gXwJfM) by Jeremy Messersmith. Enjoy!

James is sitting at Thomas’ desk, watching him pace. He’s talking about Hamilton again. James is almost beginning to suspect that Thomas has some sort of hate crush on the boy. It had started off as a joke, but now it just stings a little more than it has any right to.

James watches Thomas’ hands fly through the air, enraptured by the pure _emphasis_ they could entail. He’s a little more enchanted by Thomas’ hands than he cares to admit. _What those hands could do behind closed doors—_

James’ phone buzzes. Thomas stops talking, looks at James curiously. “What’s up?”

“My dad wants me home,” James says, scrolling through his texts quickly. “Much as I’d like to listen to your millionth volume on how awful Alexander Hamilton is, duty calls.”

Thomas offers him a hand and he takes it, lets himself be pulled up from the chair. Thomas keeps hold of his hand maybe a moment too long, then drops it, gesturing to the door. James thinks he’s imagining the pretty blush that’s spreading across his face. “Much as I’d like to keep you a captive audience, we both know he can’t be kept waiting.”

It’s a loaded comment, and they both know it. James meets Thomas’ eyes, opens the door. “I’ll be fine,” is all he says.

Thomas holds his gaze for a moment, then nods, and closes the door behind him as he leaves. James stands in front of Thomas’ house for a moment, takes it in. Sprawling, warm, _safe._ James wishes he could stay.

The clouds that have been so abundant for the past month have cleared, and the walk home is warm. He knows the path by heart at this point. He closes his eyes just to try it. He lasts a block before he gives up.

On a street corner, he pauses. In front of him is a rolling field, covered in row upon row of white. They’re clover flowers. He picks one and wants to tuck it behind his ear, wants to tuck it behind _Thomas’_ ear, wants wants wants. He thinks of home, and leaves it in the road.

His house is large and looming, shadowed. He feels a sense of dread settle in his stomach as he approaches the door. He doesn’t knock. It’s unlocked. He enters a silent house. The only sound is hushed whispers from the kitchen. He barely breathes as he follows the signs of life.

Francis is in the kitchen with Nelly and Sarah. They’re arguing furiously over a bowl of vegetables. Francis looks up when he sees James. “Where have you been?” he hisses, and shoves the bowl at him.

“At Thomas’,” James whispers, and takes the bowl. Francis’ eyes darken, and James tries to ignore it. “He’s in there?”

Francis nods and hands a bowl to Sarah. She glances between them, leaves the kitchen quickly. “You abandoned us for your _boyfriend?”_ Francis accuses, wrinkling his nose.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” James snaps. Francis is full of nettles, and James doesn’t like talking about Thomas with him. James doesn’t like talking about Thomas with anyone in his family. “Grab a bowl, Francis.”

“Guys, please—” Nelly pleads, taking Francis’ arm. Francis shrugs her off and she storms into the dining room.

“Fuck you, James,” hisses Francis. “You can’t just leave us because your boy toy wants to spend the day fucking you like a do—”

“Francis, shut your goddamn mouth,” James says, and shoves past him.

“Do you know how he gets?” Francis asks from behind him, and he sounds so desperate that James almost pauses. Almost.

When they’ve sat down, James finally takes a good look at his father. James Sr. looks severe and grim. James hates how he can never tell what his father is thinking. He hates how he can never gauge how bad it’s going to be.

Their mother is away on a business trip, so they’re alone with him for a few days. No one wants to screw it up. No one wants to upset the delicate balance they’ve reached. No one wants to breathe, for fear of what might come after.

The table is so quiet they could hear a pin drop.

“Shall we?” James Sr. asks, and takes a bite of his food.

James pretends to be interested in his salad. He’s stealing glances at his father. He knows what’s coming, because he spent the day at Thomas’, and he’s been through this before. Because he likes Thomas better than he likes his family. Because he doesn’t like to be apart from Thomas, anyway.

They eat like that for a long time. James Sr. finishes his meal peacefully. James’ appetite vanished the moment he stepped inside the house.

Finally, finally, James Sr. says, “Have you talked to Dolley, James?”

“She’s nice, sir,” James says quietly. He pokes at his food for another moment, doesn’t look up from his plate. “We’re going to a movie on Wednesday, with some friends.”

“That’s nice,” James Sr. says. His voice is saccharine and honey and _fake._ “Where were you today?”

James closes his eyes for a second, gathers his wits. Because his father _knows_ where he was. Because his father doesn’t trust him. Because his father wants to _hear him say it._ “Thomas’ house,” he says.

“You’re over there a lot,” James Sr. says, and James can recognize an accusation when it’s leveled at him.

“I am,” James agrees, and doesn’t let himself go on the defensive. It would only make it worse.

“You two are very close,” James Sr. says. He’s feigning indifference as he sips his wine, and James prods at a piece of chicken.

He can feel the his siblings’ eyes on him as he looks up at his father. He can feel them burning. He can feel himself being set alight. “Yes, sir.”

“Perhaps you two should _distance_ yourselves from one another.” James Sr. takes another sip of wine. “You spend quite a bit of time together. You seem to have grown rather codependent.”

James forces himself to steady his breathing. He looks back down at his plate. “Yes, sir.”

“Very good,” James Sr. says, and beams around the table. James hates him. “Wouldn’t want any… _unhealthy_ behaviors going on, right?”

“Right, sir,” Francis is the first to echo, with a look at James. James wants to throw up.

When dinner’s over, they clean the dishes in silence. Their father has already retreated to his room. James feels hollow.

“So, you’re not boyfriends, huh?” Francis asks skeptically, pointing a wet pan at James’ face.

“Don’t talk about things you don’t understand,” James says, distantly, and drops the sponge he’s holding. He turns to Francis. “Thomas and I are _not_ dating, and if Dad ever catches wind of something of that ilk, whatever happens is on your head.”

Francis doesn’t reply, and James flees to his room.

He waits until he’s cocooned himself in his bed and taken a few deep breaths to pull out his phone. He hesitates with his finger over the call button. What’s he going to say? He can feel himself burning, but he doesn’t move the blankets that he’s piled up. He closes his eyes and lets himself be charred, because maybe if he burns he won’t have to be here, in this house, anymore.

He can’t very well tell Thomas what happened. To Thomas, it would be stupid. It would be obvious—they’d just distance themselves. Because they aren’t dating—they _aren’t_ —and they would just have to prove it, right?

James can feel his heart racing anyway. He doesn’t want to let Thomas go. He doesn’t want to lose him. The whole thing reminds him too much of Maria Lewis’ situation, and everyone knows how that turned out. James doesn’t want to leave Thomas to be Eliza. Because James is the weak one—he’d be the one to cave, and he knows it. He’d be the one to leave Thomas behind.

Furthermore, he _needs_ Thomas, the way he needs water. It’s funny how his father’s wrong. They’re not codependent. Thomas will live. He might miss James, might feel a twinge every so often, might go to his funeral. James won’t. Without Thomas, the million bells and whistles and pieces of scotch tape that hold him together will be destroyed. Without Thomas, he doesn’t know what he’ll do. He doesn’t think it’ll be anything short of reckless.

_Oh, fuck it._

He presses call.

Thomas answers on the first ring. “Are you okay?”

“Relax, Thomas,” James says, even as he quakes in his cocoon.

“At least give me a quick update?” Thomas’ voice is so sweet, so _real,_ with all its worry. James can feel himself melting.

“Good news or bad news first?” James asks, even though he’s not sure what the good news is.

“Bad news,” Thomas says instantly.

James steels himself. “At dinner, my father told me that we’re spending too much time together,” he says, going for calm and missing by a long shot, judging by Thomas’ sharp inhale. “He says we’ve become too codependent.” James scoffs. “He says we have to distance ourselves.”

“No.” Thomas’ tone is firm. “No way.”

“Thomas—”

“No way,” Thomas repeats. “Would you be able to manage? I know that you can take care of yourself and everything. But James.”

“I’ll be worse off if you don’t let me do this,” James says, and hates himself for it. “My dad is convinced that we’re in some gay love affair, and he’ll never let it go if I don’t give him reason to.”

Thomas is quiet. “Why does he think we’re in some _gay love affair?”_

James knows that it’s sarcasm. It hurts. “Because I spend more time with you than I do with my family?” he offers, trying not to sound bitter. “Because I practically _live_ at your house when my mom’s not home?”

“Fair,” Thomas concedes. “So, hypothetically, if we were to do this, what would it entail?”

“We can still talk, I guess,” James says. “We just… I can’t stay at your house anymore. At all. I can’t go over there.” He purses his lips. “I can’t talk to you too much at school. I think… I think it’d be best if we just avoided each other entirely, for a while.” And if he stops talking then because his voice gives out, well, Thomas isn’t there to see it.

Thomas is silent for a long time. Then, “Okay.” James can practically _see_ him trying to calm himself down. “James?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m here if you need me.”

“I know.”

“See you around, then,” Thomas says, desolate.

“See you,” James says, and hangs up the phone. If he doesn’t sleep that night, well, Thomas isn’t there to see it. If he screams into his pillow until his voice is hoarse, then nobody needs to know. And if he lets himself burn under his blankets, under his siblings’ eyes, under his _shame,_ then nobody’s there to care.

**Author's Note:**

> Edit: This is how my sister says this should end:  
> "And then Thomas decided to instigate a gay rendition of "Footloose", because he is physically unable to let anything he loves go, and their little podunk town became the gay capital of their county. The influx of tourism caused by the increase in tolerance led to an economic boom, enough that Thomas' family gained the money to hire lawyers to sue James Sr. for child abuse, and drove him from the town forever, though the rest of the family got to stay. And then Thomas whisked James off to some fancy college, where Hamilton also just happened to go, and basically the Cabinet Battles ensued.
> 
> \- Sincerely, your sister, the irrepressible optimist"


End file.
